


burning through the hourglass

by goldenheadfreckledheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 08:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenheadfreckledheart/pseuds/goldenheadfreckledheart
Summary: “Why shouldn’t you have a crush? Because you were academic rivals in high school and you didn’t see him for three years before you both transferred to the same college? Where you justhappenedto join the same theater group without knowing it until you showed up halfway through rehearsal, atexactlythe right time to catch the end of his scene and realize that he’s hotter than you rememberedandextremely talented?” Raven rattles off, without pausing to take a breath. “Those are the exact reasons youshouldhave a crush on someone.”





	burning through the hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> This fill is for the prompt: "Bellamy is a naturally artistic person but hides it pretty well. The gang all goes to an art class or have like an art day or whatever and Bellamy makes breathtaking art and Clarke is lowkey turned on/jealous." 
> 
> But be warned that it got boiled down to 'Bellamy is unexpectedly good at art' with a bonus helping of the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers trope.
> 
> Title is from Souvenir // Orla Gartland. It makes this fic sound way more serious than it is, but it was appropriately time-related so I made it all lowercase, because that changes the vibe, right?

“I don’t see what the issue is. You _like_ him.”

“I don’t—“

“What?” Raven interrupts, her grin sharp. “You don’t _like_ like him?”

“Are we really regressing that far?”

“Are you saying you don’t like him?”

“No.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Clarke huffs, letting go of the tension in her back and _flomp_ ing back onto her shitty twin bed.

“I’m saying I feel like I shouldn’t have a crush on him. And teaching him how to paint backdrops in a one-on-one setting isn’t going to help.”

“Why shouldn’t you have a crush? Because you were academic rivals in high school and you didn’t see him for three years before you both transferred to the same college? Where you just _happened_ to join the same theater group without knowing it until you showed up halfway through rehearsal to start on the set design, at _exactly_ the right time to catch the end of his scene and realize that he’s hotter than you remembered _and_ extremely talented?” Raven rattles off, without pausing to take a breath. “Those are the exact reasons you _should_ have a crush on someone.”

She’s right, it’s just overwhelming. It’s like he came out of nowhere and dropped directly back into the center of her life without any warning. But Clarke doesn’t know how to say that, which is why she goes with, “I’m sorry, do _you_ want to date him?”

Raven doesn’t even flinch. “No, but thanks for admitting that you do.”

Clarke only splutters for a response for a second before giving up and rolling over into her pillow. “Media romanticizes the whole ‘you-got-hot’ trope but it’s actually a whole lot more awkward in real life,” she says, muffled and dejected.

Raven makes a sympathetic sound. “You guys have the whole antagonistic friendship thing going, that’s a start.”

It’s true, strangely enough. She and Bellamy have fallen back into their old routine of snark with frighteningly little effort. Which was only confusing to the rest of the theater group until they divulged their past – high school rivals with an over exaggerated rivalry for valedictorian, until they were beat out by another student, a quiet girl named Monroe, unbeknownst to either of them until three days before graduation. That story earned them some well-deserved teasing but also left the group expecting a belligerent relationship between the two of them. And, well… it’s what they know. It’s not hard to fall back into.

“Is it though? A start? It feels like where we’ve always been.”

“Except he’s hotter now and you’re worse at ignoring it.”

That’s not exactly it, but it’s close enough. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

*

It’s not that he’s just hotter, though. That would be easy.

Instead, he’s also an incredible actor and, within the last three years, has apparently become someone who's amazingly easygoing with everyone while still maintaining an air of responsibility. Monty, Raven’s friend who got recruited to help her with tech and lighting, had called Bellamy ‘mom’ in passing during an after-rehearsal kick back when he’d insisted on collecting car keys from an inebriated Jackson. The nickname stuck, of course.

It makes her ache.

And that’s the hardest thing to understand.

It doesn’t make sense for her to feel like she’s been _missing out_ on him for the last three years. They weren’t even _friends_ in high school. But suddenly he’s right in front of her, and, yeah, he’s different, but Clarke sees the common threads. She knows how dedicated he can be from their past rivalry, and she sees it in his acting and all the hours he puts into their theater group. She knows how protective he was of his sister in high school because the only time he missed school was to take care of her – something Clarke only found out after forcing it out of him in Junior year, because she didn’t want to beat him unfairly when he missed the day before their Calculus final. She’d tried so long to figure out what kind of cold or illness he’d contracted that he eventually had to shut her up by admitting that it was his _sister_ who was sick.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he’d grumbled, before storming away and effectively ending the conversation.

Now she sees that protectiveness when he hands Harper a water bottle between scenes, or when he helps Miller move the heavier set pieces, or even when he’s the _only fucking_ _volunteer_ to help her paint backdrops for the show on a Saturday morning.

So he’s the same person that she knew, except that he’s grown – like all people do – but it makes Clarke feel like if they’d been nicer to each other in high school, if they’d been actual _friends_ , then there wouldn’t be three years hanging between them now. And every day she sees him she wishes there weren’t.

*

Of course she’s running behind on Saturday because she didn’t anticipate the rush at her normal coffee place.

“You know, I heard that if the teacher’s not here within 15 minutes of the start of class, we get to go home,” Bellamy says when she shoulders open the heavy door to the backstage area.

It doesn’t make her glare like it would have 3 years ago. “ _I_ heard that if the teacher brings you coffee, you’re supposed to say thank you.”

She’s used to the lurch in her stomach when he smiles at her. Mostly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, grinning and tapping her cup to his when he lifts it up for cheers. “Thanks for giving up your Saturday for this.”

He shrugs. “It would suck for you to have to do it alone. Plus, I’m always down to learn something new. Who knows when I’ll need to know how to paint a village on a giant scale.”

Clarke snorts, “Because that comes up so often.”

“I’m just trying to build my resume here, Clarke.”

He’s so cute. “Aren’t we all.”

He helps her drag out the paint – mostly colors left over from previous shows, which is fine considering Fiddler on the Roof doesn’t really require an exotic color pallet.

“So, there’s a procedure to this right?” he says, standing over their plywood panels, laid out side by side to form a larger canvas. “I assume we don’t just freehand it.”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, no, we don’t just freehand it. Mostly we want to make sure the perspective is right.”

They’re not doing anything difficult, just a basic village with some depth. Houses further away in the center and getting closer as they move outward toward the sides. Bellamy’s a good partner, helping her with the calculations as they lay out perspective lines. He only makes fun of her a little when she can’t do most of the math off the top of her head. For all she was worried about it, it’s actually _really_ _nice_. Even if she sometimes catches herself staring at his hands, or hair, or smile a second too long.

“Can we bring back the academic competition? Because I would win so much easier this time,” he’s saying.

Clarke scoffs. “First of all, you didn’t win the _first_ time. We both lost, and _no,”_ she says we he tries to rebut, “one _hundredth_ of a grade point doesn’t count.”

He’d definitely argue the point if she gave him the airspace. She can see it in the look on his face, so similar to the one he used to get in their English class debates. Different too, though. Warmer.

She tries not to dwell on that too much.

“We tied for Salutatorian,” she says with finality, not suppressing a grin. “And _second_ , we live in the age of technology. Not being able to do complex math would only be a problem if I didn’t have a calculator app within five feet of me at all times.” She considers, “Or a nerdy friend, I guess.” He had been doing all the calculations as she rattled them off, to be fair.

When his counter-argument doesn’t come right away, she shifts her attention from her ruler to where he sits on the opposite panel.

He looks up just after she does. “I guess you’ll have to keep me around, then.” His smile is sarcastic, but the same emotion doesn’t land in his voice.

Or - that’s not quite right. It does land. He’s a good actor after all. So maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but she feels like she can see beneath it. And imagined or not, she’s kind of tired of feeling like she’s missing out on him.

“Yeah, I guess I will.”

He doesn’t reply, but she’s spent enough time watching him try to hold it together when someone else breaks during a scene that she knows he’s trying not to smile as they get back to work.

They make pretty good progress. By around noon, they’ve collectively finished two of the four panels.

She’s been checking in on him every now and then, so she knows he wasn’t going totally off-script – for lack of a better metaphor – but she hasn’t had the chance to actually step back and see the whole thing. She probably shouldn’t be as surprised as she is when she finally gets a good look.

It’s just a shitty backdrop for a low-budget production, it doesn’t have to look _good_. And yet, here Bellamy is, working away at his half of the panels, his houses looking every bit as realistic as Clarke’s, if not more so.

“What?” He says, when she doesn’t realize she’s staring.

“How are you good at _everything_?”

He has flecks of paint in the tips of his hair above his temple, like he got halfway through running a hand through it before realizing he was covered in paint.

“What are you talking about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t start being humble _now,_ Mr. leading-love-interest.” She groans exaggeratedly, “I thought this was going to be my moment to be the obvious expert.”

He grins. “Oh, so you only agreed to this for the ego boost? Honestly, that makes so much sense.”

She seriously needs to reign in her reaction to his smile. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

“I guess I was just hoping one of us had matured since high school.”

“Rookie mistake.”

“How about I make it up to you?”

“What?” She’s kind of lost the train of the conversation. Which she assumes is a symptom of the fact that they’re essentially throwing nonsense comments back and forth.

It only gets more confusing when he goes pink and clams up. Which definitely isn’t a look she’s seen on him before. It makes her heart pound off-beat for a second.

“I was just going to say, I’m willing to make up for stealing your ego boost. I could, um, buy you a meal, or something.”

“Like a date?”

“You don’t have to—”

“How about tonight?”

It takes a second, but when he smiles, it’s almost blinding. “I was kind of thinking we could get lunch.”

“Wow, impatient.” Which is rich, coming from someone who spent the last 24 hours worrying over spending time with him. She’s smiling so much her cheeks hurt.

“You can say no.”

“Nope. Don’t want to.” She takes the paint brush from his hand and pulls him to his feet. “I could eat now. You hungry?”

He doesn’t let go of her hand once he’s on his feet, twining his fingers through hers. “Now who’s impatient?”

She could probably consider her actions a little more, be a little more cautious, but she feels so _light_ that she doesn’t bother thinking before leaning up to kiss him, short and warm.

Then the world catches up with her and she thinks for a second that she fucked up. That it’s too much, too fast.

But he just smiles and kisses her back, equally warm.

“I had such a crush on you in high school.”

She grins. “I think I did too.”

“You _think_ you did?” His indignation is inexplicably adorable.

“I was too busy trying to beat you! I didn’t really have time to notice!”

“Oh my god.”

She laughs. “At least I’m noticing _now_.”

“Better late than never, I guess.”

_Yeah_ , she thinks, _that about sums it all up._

*

If their cast-mates catch them making out at the back of the theater like stupid kids before rehearsal on Monday, who really cares?

It’s not like they’re in high school anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not as active as I used to be, but I do poke around [tumblr](http://www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com) now and then if you wanna say hi.


End file.
